The Duel

By Supriyo Chatterji

Daisuke sipped the tea that his daughter-in-law had served. The courtyard was bright with the setting sun’s beams and Daisuke watched his grandchildren play in the light. As he mused a haiku, his youngest granddaughter, Hanako, came crying to him.

“Ojiisan, Ojiisan,” she said tearfully, “Hiroki pushed me down again!”

“Ho?” exclaimed Daisuke, “What is this now? Is your elder brother playing rough again?”

Hanako nodded timidly.

“Don’t worry little one,” said Daisuke kindly, “I will set him straight.”

“Hiroki!” said Daisuke, “Come here!” His eldest grandson came over.

“Have you been hurting your little sister again?” asked Daisuke sternly.

“No Ojiisan,” said Hirako feigning innocence.

“Hmm..” said Daisuke, “Well sit down. I have a story to tell you. You too come sit Hanako.”

The two children sat next to each other obediently.

“Now,” said Daisuke after clearing his throat, “I am going to tell you about my time as a young man. Like you, Hiroki, I was a temperamental young fellow. To educate me, my father sent me away to a samurai school. I stayed there for many years, learning Bushido from the most revered master of our age.”

“One day,” he continued, “We were practising in the temple courtyard. The old Master sat in the shade with his oldest disciples observing us. Just then, a young messenger entered the temple. After bowing, he handed the Master a scroll. Everybody stood still waiting to know what it was about. But the Master did not say anything. He merely whispered something in the ear of his closest disciple and went inside. We went on with our training as usual.”

“In the evening, when we all sat down for dinner, the master announced he would be leaving for Ganryujima tomorrow. It was a small island half-a-day’s journey from our temple. The master said that he will take one of us along with him. To my utter surprise, he chose me. Everyone from the oldest to the youngest disciple protested.

‘Why do you choose Daisuke to go along with you, Sensei? Why him when we are all willing to journey with you?’ asked the oldest disciple. The master said nothing. His mere glance was enough to silence everyone.

As if choosing me was not enough, the master next went into the temple armoury and brought out the oldest katana of the lot. Everyone was appalled.

‘Why Sensei?’ asked one of the older pupil, ‘How can you duel with the most notorious swordsman in Japan with just a rusty blade?’ Everyone voiced their concern along.

‘My dear students,’ said the Master finally, ‘I have chosen this katana as my weapon because it will serve a larger purpose than any one of you can foresee. Do not doubt your Sensei. Just remember all he has taught you.’ With that, everyone fell silent.

The following morning, we packed our supplies and left for Ganryujima. It was a long and tiresome journey. But the master, despite his advanced age, did not seem wearied at all.

‘Sensei,’ I finally asked him, ‘How are you so free of weariness even after we have walked dozens of miles?’

‘My dear Daisuke,’ said the Master kindly, ‘the body is merely a reflection of the mind. That which the mind chooses to bring into existence is only bound to occur. So, you will not be tired if you choose not to be.’

The Master’s words did not make sense to me, but I heeded and soon enough, I got over my exhaustion as well. There was indeed something magical in the old Master that none but the wisest could perceive. Perhaps that is why he had famously ended many-a-duel without even drawing his katana.

Finally, we came to shore and hired a boat. I took to the paddles while the master sat at the other end meditating. I didn’t know the waters around the island, but as the master had prophesied, we soon arrived there. 

‘Daisuke,’ said the master when we hit land, ‘I want you to turn the boat around and return home without me.’

‘But,’ I said protesting, ‘How will you come back home if I leave Sensei?’

The Master laughed gently and placed his hand over my head. A strange calm came over me as he patted me.

‘Go on now,’ he said while walking away without turning back.

Though everything in me told me to turn back, I knew that no one would forgive me if I returned without the Master. So, I decided to follow. I began tailing him at a distance. After walking through some thickets, the Master entered a clearing. I watched him from behind a tree. 

I didn’t know what it was, but the very air had seemed stifling ever since we had landed. I had reasoned it to be the moist sea breeze, but I was soon to find out its true reason.

As the master walked on, I noticed a strange mass of blackness at the other end of the clearing. I squinted my eyes to see more clearly and caught sight of the shape of a man. His aura was nothing like I had ever seen. It was as if he was swathed in the blackness of the night itself. His ki burned with a terrifying malevolence and explained the ominous quiet. Just then, as the master came close to him, a frightening rumble was heard. I thought it was the roiling sea or some distant thunder but it was the voice of this man.

‘So,’ he said with an unnerving tremor, ‘you have come!’

The Master did not reply, but came and stood a few paces from him.

‘It seems I was wrong to think you could not control it,’ said the Master feeling his opponents aura, ‘that blade has consumed you.’

Suddenly, the man burst into a maniacal laughter. His cackle was long and deep, like the battle drums of the legions of hell. He opened his eyes and sheer terror invaded my soul. These were not the eyes of a man. No! They belonged to something else entirely. I shuddered to think I could comprehend such evil. But in my heart I knew what he was.

‘Demon,’ I heard myself gasp as I watched him stand up and face the master.

‘Consumed?’ he said with a devilish relish, ‘No old man. I have not been consumed by Muramasa’s blade. I have conquered it. I have harnessed its power and become the greatest swordsman in Japan! None can match my blade, except you! But I intend to change that. Today! You die!’

The demon drew his blade. It rang through the night like the ear-splitting screech of a demented ghost, condemned to wander through the earth until the final moment of all creation. The katana was completely black and tainted with the blood of its previous victims. I could hear the faint echoes of tortured voices emanate from it. At the same time, a fiendish ki began to ooze out from it and warp the air around it. This was no ordinary weapon.

‘Muramasa,’ I repeated the name to myself and recalled what I knew of it. A fabled swordsmith had once created an evil blade that could cut through anything. He named it Juuchi Fuyu or 10,000 Winters. This blade was the death of every man who had held it. Always, they had been driven mad by bloodlust and been slain because of it. So, finally the Shogun entrusted it to the Master and asked him to keep it hidden. 

Despite not knowing the history behind the two, my instinct seemed to know. I intuitively realized that this man who wielded the evil blade now was a former disciple of my master. He had been given 10,000 Winters as he sought out his destiny away from the master’s tutelage. Now, it seemed he was hell bent on killing the same man who had bestowed the blade upon him.

‘Ready yourself,’ said the demon and took a step forward. I was terrified out of my senses but the master did not seem to be unnerved at all. He merely shifted his stance and placed his hands gently on his katana.

The demon let out a terrifying roar and rushed the master. Sensei! My mind screamed but I was petrified by some unknown force and destined to only be a spectator.

Clang! The evil blade rang out as it was intercepted before it could cleave my Master’s head. Some unearthly force pushed its miasma back. My eyes gaped in awe as I saw the impossible. The master had drawn, deflected his opponent’s blow and returned his katana back to the sheath in a split second! Even the demon was taken aback. But he was not deterred. 

He rushed the master again, this time mustering a powerful ki behind his blow. I was convinced that the master would not survive this one. Yet, another powerful clang erupted with sparks flying from where their katanas met. The evil blade was pushed back once more. Even though I was adept at the katana myself, I could not spot the Master’s strikes. All that my eyes could see was the flashing after-image of the blade. 

Angered at the fact that no one else had been able to withstand his blows and the master nullified them effortlessly, the demon rushed him again. This time he released a barrage of strikes all aimed with deadly precision. But miraculously, the master deflected each and every one of them. The silent night was shredded with their clashing sounds and each strike emitted terrifying sparks in mid-air. Seeing that his attacks were making no impact, the demon stepped back.

‘I thought as much,’ he growled at the Master’s tranquil face, ‘Mienai ken no michi - The Way of the Invisible Sword; the transcendent form of Iaijutsu. Hah! I didn’t think such a powerful technique would still exist in this decrepit world. Truly you will be the most worthy man I will have killed!”

With that the demon lunged forward into another frightening barrage of strikes. The master swiftly stepped back in tandem with his egress and deflected all his assaults. Letting out a roar, the demon lifted his blade to land a crushing blow. But before he could, the master drew.

Shock bolted through his body as the Master’s katana lightly touched his throat. Neither he nor I could believe what had just happened.

‘You have grown careless,’ said the Master serenely, ‘I could have killed you a dozen times in between your strikes. You sacrifice too much speed for power. And that has become your undoing.’

I was overjoyed to think this abomination would now perish and we would return home. The duel which had so recently seemed balanced had turned into a landslide win. But the master had something else in mind. To mine and the demon’s absolute shock, he sheathed his weapon and stepped back.

‘Why?’ asked the demon utterly humiliated. 

‘It is not your time,’ said the master mystically, ‘you have yet to learn. You have forgotten everything I taught you in a bid for overwhelming power. But fury is a short-lived exhilaration. And your lot has just ended.’

The demon shrank back in utter bewilderment. For the first time since the beginning, he seemed to doubt his actions. I could see it in his eyes, humiliation and wonder danced inside him. He was at ends about what to do when the master spoke.

‘Do you wish to learn?’ he asked calmly. Both the demon and I were taken aback. I wanted the master to kill the demon but that was not his design. He repeated the question again.

‘Yes,’ said the demon, humbling for the first time since the start. The malevolent intent dissipated and the air becalmed itself. 

‘The katana,’ said the Master as if reciting a poem, ‘is not a weapon. It is an extension of the samurai’s will. It is the will that guides the sword towards its objective. The body is merely the mode of action. Before you win a strike, you must will it won. The only real battle is within. Once that is done, there is no more fear, no more uncertainty. The path of the Samurai is one single line towards death. Therefore, the samurai must constantly live with death. That way, when death does come, he is not afraid to meet it. To know life in every breath, in every cup of tea, in every life we take, that is Bushido!’

‘Now,’ said the Master gaining his stance, ‘caste aside your anger. Focus your mind, forget all and be one with your katana!’

The demon hung his head. He seemed to be fighting a duel inside of himself, just as the Master had described. I could sense him fighting the evil influence of his weapon. But with a heaved effort, he overcame it. The miasmatic, fear-inducing ki coming from him dissipated and as he opened his eyes, he seemed human for the first time.

The Master smiled and said, ‘Welcome back. Now, I have given you what you needed. You must give me what I wish to attain.’ Again, I did not understand the master, but a creeping feeling permeated my being, as if I knew what was going to happen.

The Master’s opponent took up his blade. Strangely, it seemed black no more. It was as if the blade was cleansed along with the wielder and now gained a mortal appearance.

‘Come,’ said the Master, ‘you have shown me the demon you became. Now shown me the warrior you may become.’

The Master’s opponent lifted his blade and took his stance. For the first time, the Master drew his blade and let us see it. A beam of moonlight peeked out from behind the clouds and glinted off the fabled blade he held.

‘Yarawaka-Te,’ said the Master’s opponent and smiled, ‘No wonder I could not defeat you.’ The Master nodded calmly.

I knew that blade. I had heard the legend often enough. Yarawaka-Te or Tender Hands was the greatest katana forged by the holy swordsmith Masamune. Legend had it that the sword had a conscience and would only cut what needed to be severed. Thus, it was the power of righteousness that made the weapon invincible. 

‘Sensei,’ said the Master’s opponent in humble delight as he launched into his attack. This time, his blade did not lead him, he led it. They exchanged mighty blows and duelled for a long time. Every time it seemed the Master’s opponent would gain an upper hand, the Master would let out a flurry of strikes that forced his opponent back.

‘This is not enough,’ said the Master after they had exchanged countless blows, ‘If you wish to defeat me, you must first defeat your own limitations. Will is everything. Will my defeat son and victory shall be yours.’

‘Yes, Sensei,’ said the opponent.

Saying so, they went at it again. This time, they were far more vicious. Each evaded potentially lethal strikes and struck each other’s blades faster than my eyes could follow. But then the moment came. The master let out a lightning fast slash and cut through his opponent’s eye. The man staggered and stepped back, clutching his severed eye in pain. Blood streaked a side of his face and blinded him.

‘Fear not the loss of sight, Shichiro,’ said the Master calmly, ‘Let the fog of the material be lifted and enable you to see clearly with the mind’s eye. Recall my last lesson to you before you left. Use it now. Attack!’

The Master lunged forward and attacked his opponent. But the man leapt back and assumed a stance I had never seen before. He turned his back halfway towards the master, lifted his katana to the level of his face. The moment seemed to stop in suspended animation. In a split second, he opened his eye and unleashed what looked like a triple arc wave. The Master successfully defended two of them but the diagonal uppercutting strike overcame him. The katana sang a lament. The two figures stood there on the open patch of land, their swords glimmering in the moonlight.

A second later, the Master spoke.

‘Tsubame Gaeshi,’ he gasped ecstatically as he fell from the legendary technique. Swallow Reversal, the mythical technique of Sasaki Kojiro that changed the rules of reality itself, unleashing a fatal cage of slashes on the victim. 

The Master collapsed to his knees. To my surprise, his opponent dropped his katana and cradled his old Master’s cleaved body. Tears welled up in his eyes.

‘Do not cry my son,’ whispered the Master, ‘You have done very well. Yarawaka-Te is now yours. Wield it well and grant me what I have asked you.’

‘What is that Sensei?’ asked the disciple tearfully.

‘A warrior’s death,’ the Master replied with a smile. Choking on tears, the disciple took up his Master’s former katana. The Master painfully moved into the seiza position. The disciple lifted his sword above his head and in one flash beheaded our Master. The head rolled a few inches and fell upon the dirt. I still remember the expression on my Master’s face. It was the most serene I had ever seen.

We both gasped as the moment passed. The disciple took both the swords and placed them on his belt. Then he spoke. 

‘You there,’ he said looking at me, ‘Go and tell everyone who won this duel.’ Bewildered though I was, I understood his words and we both nodded.   

Who was telling the story? And whose story was it anyway? 

The words fluttered and flew in the wind.

All that mattered then and all that matters now, my dear children, is the preservation of the Way.

“Do you understand now Hiroki?” asked Daisuke enigmatically.

His grandchild looked at him in awe and nodded slowly. He took a solemn vow in his heart to honour his path - The Way of The Warrior. Bushido!

By Supriyo Chatterji